


Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier

by dannyikigay



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, M/M, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Therapy, love is not the cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyikigay/pseuds/dannyikigay
Summary: “I don’t want to be a burden,” Allen stated, fiddling nervously with his fingers, pulling his sleeves down his burning wrists. “He’s going through something on his own, too. I don’t want to hurt him.I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”
Relationships: Tyki Mikk/Allen Walker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier

**Author's Note:**

> this is very dark and there's lots of stuff that may be triggering to some people, so read at your own risk. it's extremely self-indulgent; it's cathartic and therapeutic for me. here's the playlist i listened to while i wrote it: i would be glad if you did that too, while reading this <3

[ “Have ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvBH29rXQROcn8knKJWfDD7QADguCttNN) you had any bad dreams lately?”  
  
The blonde-haired doctor sat with his hands held together, his brownish eyes pointed somewhere into Allen. Severe, modulating his tone in a smooth, contemptuous manner; creaked, despite his attempt to look perfectly imperturbable. He didn’t smoke. He didn’t raise a brow, nor bat an eye; he was cold like glass. Judgmental.  
  
Directing his eyes on him, Allen couldn’t make out his features. He stared through him, at the complete nothingness. His lips trembled, on the verge of saying something he couldn’t remember. His thoughts had the strange peculiarity of forming themselves into mind by taking an incoherent shape, language contorted, sense twisted. He couldn’t say. He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t hear anything. The doctor didn’t bite his pen, didn’t scratch his cheek, didn’t cross his legs. His motionlessness merely served to distract Allen from his thoughts, regardless of his useless efforts to stay focused.  
  
He was quivering pathetically. A smile curled his lips as he breathed out, hands strained into painful fists. “I can’t remember. The only thing I feel is a sense of uneasiness. I can’t remember my dream and when I do, I don’t pay much attention. I don’t think it changes anything,” he explained, slow and careful and polite. His smile never faltered; a caustic ache settled into his cheekbones. “I don’t like dreaming. I don’t like to sleep either.”  
  
The doctor shifted into his seat, placing his hands across the table and leaning forwards, just slightly. “But you have to. A human being cannot function without proper rest; you can’t expect to get better if you don’t. This is what I have been telling you for the past few weeks,” he continued, pausing as if to find the right way to say it, a way that would not imply Allen’s humiliation. He didn’t need to. Allen was still smiling. “Now, try to remember, Walker. Is there something you usually dream about that your mind tends to forget in order to preserve you from possible pain?”  
  
“No, doctor,” Allen answered. Spiteful, perhaps; testing the doctor’s patience. _Analysing him_. “Blurred images. Mana. Nothing more.”  
  
“Mana,” the other man repeated, almost sighing. “So you _do_ remember,” he exclaimed carefully, effectively probing Allen’s contradictions. He looked as though he wanted to add something to it, but he stopped himself on his own train of thoughts. Allen’s smile stretched the corners of his mouth. Silence fell dark and heavy. The clock was ticking into his ears.  
  
The black raven outside flew by and cawed in deep agonisation.  
  
“I dream about Mana’s smile,” Allen whispered, words filtered through his thin lips. “It’s not a good dream.”  
  
“And why, exactly,” the doctor said, an indulgent gaze into Allen’s, “is it displeasing?”  
  
Allen opened his mouth. He struggled to talk, words caught at the back of his throat. Hit by the persuasion that none of it mattered, that none of his problems was quite real, he let out a bitter chuckle. “Because it’s a lie,” he whispered, and didn’t expect him to understand.  
  
The doctor allowed himself to sigh. He closed his eyes, long blonde eyelashes tickling his cheekbone, reopening them a second later only to cross the emptiness of Allen’s gaze. Allen knew that when his warm eyes melted into pools of liquid brown he had to expect his next question to hurt. He took a long breath, only heaving out when the doctor muttered, softly, words so simple and so inherently innocuous, whispered like a secret between the two of them, surpassing the barriers of their formal relationship.  
  
“What about _him_?”  
  
Allen’s infinite smile died into something obscure. Tears collecting into his eyes, warmth spreading across his cheeks, he glanced down, avoiding the doctor’s inquisitive persistence.  
  
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, an invisible ghost scraping his lungs, he muttered quietly, “I don’t want to talk about him.”  
  
***  
Allen spread his legs open for him. Tyki tossed him around like a doll, pinning him down on the mattress with his hand around the boy’s pale neck. His veiny hand, strained with effort; fingers cold, scent of tobacco on the tips. Allen sucked the other thumb Tyki stuck into his mouth, slid his tongue around, hollowed his cheeks as he looked him in the eye; his hips fucking senselessly against Tyki’s waist, the man’s dark, long, thick cock buried deep inside, pounding him easily, like he was nothing but meat to slap and throw. 

  
Throwing his head back, Allen’s eyes fluttered shut; a sliver of moonlight shade peeking through his pale lashes. Tyki grabbed his face, squished his cheeks together; he hurt him, he bruised him, he slapped him, and the boy could do nothing but moan, moan, moan, and abandon his body and his soul to sweet surrender. Tyki wasn’t winning. He was intoxicated just as much as him. He leaned down to kiss Allen, slow and hot and filthy, folding his slim legs so he could reach deeper, slamming his thickness again and again and again, reducing him to the smallest, dirtiest piece of plastic, of elastic matter.  
  
Tyki was a man; he was a boy.  
  
Gasping silently, Allen gripped his curls, back arching when Tyki lifted his waist from the mattress, fucking him empty; leaving him _empty_ , used and abused and disgusting. Lamentations scattered on Tyki’s neck, Allen trailed a line of saliva across the man’s cheek; scratching his back and shoulders, he fucked himself back on Tyki’s cock, hips restlessly snapping. With Tyki’s arms around him, his hand clasping his neck, his chin, his cheek, his hair, feeling him up like a doll, Allen was _alive_. It didn’t matter, the fact that he hadn’t eaten in a whole day; or the fact that the pleasure was only Tyki’s, with his body aching and sizzling and crumbling apart.  
He wished Tyki would never notice; he wished he would never look into his eyes. But Tyki had that strange obsession, that _thing_ , always staring into Allen’s eyes, always, always, always, disquieting and beautiful, disturbing him, frightening him, exciting him.  
  
“I wish you could kill me,” Allen murmured into their kiss, his arms now tangled around the man’s sturdy neck, “fuck me, come in me, and then kill me. You’d like that?” he breathed onto Tyki’s slick lips, catching his mouth in a kiss, tongue swirling across his teeth biting the man’s plush lower lip.  
  
Tyki scolded him aggressively, slapping his face until it was numb, forcing Allen’s mouth open as he grabbed his bruised face, spitting on his tongue; all while fucking, fucking, thrusting, thrusting. “ _You_ ’d like that too much. Shameless slut,” he hissed, venomous and enraged, insults rolling off his tongue like dizzy spells. “You amuse me,” he whispered in the secrecy of their kiss, leaning his sweaty forehead against his, curls loose, voice scratchy and rough and low, mesmerisingly _masculine,_ “I wouldn’t want to throw you away so easily.”  
  
“Mmm…” Allen tried to speak through his masochistic enjoyment, twisting and writhing on the sheets as Tyki fucked him with all his brutal, animalistic might, never treating him with care (because Allen didn’t want to, because he was a futile mess). “Why…?” he said, tongue lapping across Tyki’s parted lips, moans filling the silence every time Tyki hit him the right way, keeping him still, caged under his body.  
  
“Because you’re my favourite,” Tyki confessed into his ear, silencing him before Allen could say anything; his hand pushed over his mouth, he forced him into obscurity, into obedience, subjugating him. And just for once, Allen closed his eyes, kissing the hand that stole his breath away; heart hammering in his chest, blood rushing through his veins, a sea of white unravelled before his eyes, warm bliss embracing him; and for a moment he experienced what he craved for through Tyki’s love.  
  
Death.  
  
***  
  
Placing his face on his chest, Allen felt safe for a moment. He couldn’t quiet down all the noise and all the voices tormenting his head, but Tyki tried to comfort him, soothing him, running his fingers through his hair.

In the beginning, it worked. But it wasn’t the same anymore. 

“Do you want to talk?” Tyki asked, low. There was terror in his voice, patience and desperation hanging on his lips.

“Would you care?” Allen responded promptly.

Tyki was speechless for a moment. He stared at him in disbelief, brows furrowed in a concerned, pained expression. He tried. He tried so hard. He cupped the boy’s cheek, cutting off Allen’s sharp words. “Why do you always doubt me, boy?”

“Because you’re a filthy man that would stick his dick into anyone he meets.”

A smooth, hoarse laughter followed Allen’s offence. “You’re not yourself,” Tyki explained, getting up from the bed, “I will ignore you. That’s the only thing I can do when you become like this.”

“Ignore me all you want,” Allen snickered, sitting up on the mattress, naked and pale like a ghost. “You’re going to fuck me anyways.” 

“Not now,” Tyki asserted quickly, pulling up his trousers. “Maybe yeah, I should fuck that stupidity out of your mind, boy. But as I said,” he paused, turning around only to approach Allen threateningly, offering him a reprimanding grin, “not now.”

Allen’s lungs had started to ache. Every time he breathed, his body burnt to a cinder. Ashes gathered at the back of his throat, chest in flames. It only intensified when he saw Tyki, with his muscular back exposed, flip his curls back and light himself a cigarette, walking out the room. The same old caging loneliness enclosed him, and he was on his own again. 

Why did he treat him like that? Tyki cared about him. Tyki took him to dinner, Tyki bought all his favourite things. Tyki said he loved him.

Allen hurt him in return. But he couldn’t do anything more, anything less. Tyki had faults of his own.

He curled into a ball, slinging his arms around his legs. He placed his cheek atop one knee, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. The sheets were permeated by the poignant, ravishing scent of Tyki’s aftershave.

Tyki came back with a mug in his hands, the scent of warm tea reaching the boy’s nose. He turned around, sitting at the edge of the bed. Tyki threw the blanket around his slim shoulders, bending down to kiss his forehead. It was so soft, so indulgent, so so _so_ beautiful Allen could cry. Small hands cupped the mug as he blew on the hot liquid, waiting for the first sip.

“We don’t have to talk,” Tyki explained, luscious like mulled wine. Smooth like velvet. _A man in love_ , sharing Allen’s suffering. “But I just want you to know that I won’t judge you for what you feel.”

Allen swallowed heavily, guts tied into knots. Tyki sat down behind him, looping his big, big arms around his waist, kissing a spot behind his delicate ear. Making him shiver, making him _whole_ . “It’s okay, boy. _You’re_ gonna be okay.” 

Allen clutched his own hands, hiding his scars. Being totally naked was not comparable to the shame that pervaded him when Tyki gently turned his wrists around, tracing his fingers across the red lines. He was exposed in his purity, brutalised by his own despise.  
  
The only thing he could hear was the cadence of Tyki’s breath, its rhythm slightly altered. A feather-light kiss landed on his neck, Tyki’s hands covering his aching wounds.  
  


***

They fell in love in December, when streets are covered in curtains of soft white and the city lights gleam against the cloak of a black sky. They fell in love under a stark December night, when Allen was wandering down the road after the Christmas party at Lavi’s house. He strangely remembered the most futile things about that night. The shops were close. While the city was sleeping, he could hear the reverberations of a warm joyfulness, light sparkles jittering suavely like in a dream. The cold wind had seeped through his bones, leaving the cage of his chest empty and frozen. _  
_ _  
_ Despite Lavi’s heated attempts to convince him to stay with their friends, Allen declined with the sweetest smile. He said he had the best time with them, that he appreciated what they did for him - all the birthday presents, the food, the games and the chiming laughter - but he preferred to spend the night at home. Because the mere idea of distracting himself from Mana’s memory struck him with the realisation that having fun was somehow _disrespectful_.  
  
When he raised his gaze from the ground, he noticed a tall, dark-haired man standing at the doorway of the building where he lived. Cigarette hanging from his lips, he directed his eyes at the sky, eyes like liquid gold, green melting into brown, hands stashed into the pockets of his blue jeans. Was he cold, wearing that simple loose, white shirt and that long black denim jacket?  
  
Only when the stranger returned from his silent contemplation and laid his magnetic eyes on Allen, the boy became fully aware that he had been staring at him more than necessary. But a smile formed on the man’s face, subtly disquieting, almost a grin. Was he mad? Was he lonely, _lonely_ like him?  
  
Voice like mulled wine, scratchy with the warmth of too many cigarettes, he broke the silence so abruptly that a shiver travelled down Allen’s spine, “What are you doing out there in the snow, boy?”  
  
“Going home,” Allen responded promptly. He figured that he should have said something else, but he was too exhausted to shape a coherent thought into his head.  
The man pulled away from the wall he was facing his back with, looked behind himself and secondly set his curious pair of amber eyes on Allen. “Do you live here?”  
  
Allen nodded slowly, dryly. “And you don’t, presumably. I’m not the only one standing there in the cold.”  
  
“No, I guess not,” the other man laughed shortly, placing his lips around the cigarette to take a deep drag. “I was just passing by. I imagined I could stop someplace and have a quick smoke,” he muttered, refinedly. His conversation was smooth and slow; he took all the time he needed to talk, thinking, pausing, alluding a smile. He was in no hurry. He was calm while Allen’s entire body trembled under his clothes. “Looks like the pause I had in mind turned out to be very long.”  
  
Allen let out a quiet chuckle, shifting his shoes in the snow, drawing indefinite patterns. “Are you lonely?” he asked, bitter irony lingering at the tip of his tongue.  
  
“I just don’t like celebrating,” the stranger murmured, not one single hint of self-loathing in his voice. He was always on the verge of laughing, audible but not loud. “Isn’t it pointless? Especially when one’s birthday happens on Christmas day.”  
  
“Oh,” Allen gasped, low. “It’s your birthday, too.”  
  
The man’s smile faded into surprise, eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted, blowing out the smoke. It was quickly replaced by a strange kind of smile, vaguely _tender_. Certainly amused to have crossed upon such a weird coincidence. He didn’t wish him a happy birthday as if he could see through Allen. There was nothing to celebrate. “Do you want to grab something to eat, boy?”  
  
Despite being partly convinced that he should have gone home, Allen was reluctant, worrying at his lower lip. After all, the night was torturingly endless.  
  
“At the local minimarket?” he questioned, calm and more... _relaxed._ His shoulders were less tense and his breaths had regained a stable rhythm.  
  
The man snickered, throwing the cigarette on the snow. He squashed it with the tip of his shoe, extinguishing the tiny flickering flame. He took the boy’s hand, intertwined their fingers together so spontaneously, so _carelessly,_ as if he’d known him his entire life, two lost souls that found each other during a snowy December night.  
  
Out of a sudden, he sped up; he dragged Allen along, running through the snow; Allen followed him, cheeks heated, hair unkempt, and for a moment he laughed, he _laughed_ wholeheartedly, taken aback by his fickleness and mesmerised by his simplicity. Perhaps he was not entirely sane, but that single gesture, the mere involvement, instilled a liveliness long forgotten.  
There was no need to know his name, his story, his formalities. All he wanted to know was how he felt, how he lived, how he _loved_ . Things and desires Allen had always suppressed in order to defend himself were revived by the youthful enthusiasm, the protective tenderness of the man’s hand around his, the wind blowing through those messy, thick curls.  
  
When they reached the store, Allen was delightedly breathless. His body was shaken from head to toe, torn apart by a mixture of laughter and surprise. The man gave him an understanding look, luscious lips curved in another smile, another shade, another confident grin. The old cashier didn’t even raise his head from the comic he was reading as they entered the store, giggling silently and roaming through the shelves.  
  
Taken by an unexpected passion, Allen smiled when he spotted his favourite cookies at the top shelf. Standing on his toes, he furrowed his brows as he realised that it was too high for him to reach; and the other man was standing next to him, arms crossed at his chest, staring at him intently. Before Allen could protest that he didn’t need his help, the man positioned himself behind Allen and easily grabbed the box. Allen turned around, caged between his strong, tall body and the shelf.  
  
“There was no need to do that,” Allen rebutted, looking up at him with his silver eyes. He should have detested his smug gestures, his self-assured attitude and everything that made him look perfectly confident and at ease with himself.  
  
“Did I make you uncomfortable, perhaps,” he whispered seductively, pronouncing those words as though he was trying to drive Allen crazy, “boy?”  
  
“I have a name,” he declared, blood sizzling with _want_ : the need to clutch that curly hair and kiss that smirk off his face.  
  
Allen stared at him as persistently as the man did, but he immediately realised that he couldn’t withstand that electric look. Yet he _challenged_ him, showing off a fake self-reliance.  
  
Maybe it happened _then_.  
  
_Then_ , when Tyki cupped his face, smoothing his thumb across his cold cheekbone and leaned down to kiss his brow, whispering, “you’ll tell me later,” brushing a tiny snowflake that had caught itself into Allen’s equally white hair.  
  
The whole world was quiet, the noise had died down for a few hours. The same old Christmas song played over and over again.  
  
***  
“Do you think he loves you?”  
  
As he waited for Allen’s response, the doctor opened the windows. Allen was certain that he didn’t notice the way his shoulders trembled, unsettled by the weight of that question. What could he say? How could he answer? He had no idea whether Tyki loved him or not. Also, why were they talking about that? What did Tyki have to do with his issues? It wasn’t Tyki’s fault if he cut his wrists and thighs, it wasn’t Tyki’s problem if he starved himself for days before eating too much.  
  
“I don’t know,” Allen stuttered, sincerely. “I don’t know. He says he loves me, but I... _don’t know_.”  
  
“Have you tried to talk to him about your insecurities? Sometimes our loved ones can help us during situations where we are unstable, when we need help.”  
  
_If only it were that simple._ _  
_ _  
_ “I don’t want to be a burden,” Allen stated, fiddling nervously with his fingers, pulling his sleeves down his burning wrists. “He’s going through something on his own, too. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”  
  
“But he’s your lover. Isn’t that what you said?”  
  
“I never said he’s my lover. We don’t want to define our relationship. _I_...don’t want to.”  
  
“There are many things you _don’t_ want, Walker.”  
  
Allen couldn’t restrain the devilish chuckle that burst out from his throat.  
  
“Admit it,” he provoked, fixating his eyes on the doctor along with a saccharine smile. “What you really want to know is whether we fuck good or not. Isn’t that what psychology is all about?” he continued; the more upset the other man seemed, the more he was spurred on to add deliberately nasty affirmations. “Sex, traumas, more sex.”  
  
The doctor wore glasses that day; thick and brown. He adjusted them on his pointed nose.  
  
“Ah, sorry,” Allen scratched the back of his head, giving an apologetic, cristalline laugh. “I know what you’re thinking. He doesn’t abuse me. He doesn’t hurt me,” he explained, taking a deep breath as he eyed his shoes, “he’s...I don’t think he loves me. But I don’t really mind,” he looked back at him, aching electricity crawling through his heart. He smiled, “it’s gonna end at some point, right? I like being his doll.”  
  
_Liar._  
  
“You said you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want to hurt people anymore. But don’t you think that your unhappiness influences him in some way, even if you don’t seek his help?”  
  
“That’s why I told him to leave.”  
  
“But do you want him to leave?”  
  
Biting his lower lip, Allen tilted his head to the side. The raven was outside. “If it makes him happy, then he should. He can find another person in two minutes. We cheat on each other a lot, you know?” he scoffed, as though there was nothing tragic about that. He didn’t expect ordinary people to understand, regardless of how cultivated and open-minded they were. “Don’t worry about it, though. We know about it. It’s mutual.”  
  
The other man took off his glasses. He ran a hand through his blond hair, fighting back an exhaustion he failed to conceal. “Do you think it is necessary to sustain your relationship?”  
  
“I just like how it feels,” Allen smiled primly.  
  
_I just like the way it hurts me._  
  
***  
Tossed around like an inflatable doll, Allen landed on the mattress, on his belly. Cheek squished on the pillow, ass popped up for Tyki, he let out a sweet moan as the man held his arms behind his back, circling his wounded wrists with a pair of silver handcuffs.  
  
He took a fistful of Allen’s white hair, forcing him to tilt his head to the side, looking at Tyki over his shoulder. He kissed his pink lips, forced his tongue into his open mouth, claiming whatever he wanted, assaulting every spot, tasting him, squeezing his face like he was worthless. Tyki penetrated him down to the base, gasping and shuddering and whispering on his lips, “what are you now?”, repeating it, kissing him, holding him still and submissive and inferior. “What are you?”  
  
“Mmmm,” Allen tried to scoff through the moaning, “you want me to say I’m your dirty whore, don’t you?” as he fucked himself on Tyki’s cock, pushing his hips against his, “you think _this_ is enough to make me lose it?”  
  
“Spoiled brat,” Tyki smirked, spitting into Allen’s mouth. He squished his face onto the mattress, stealing the breath from his lungs. Pleasure pooled into Allen’s abdomen, that feeling of senselessness and shame invading him whole. He curled his toes when Tyki punished him with a slap on his ass, threatening him, “you should take a look at yourself. You’re filthy. You’re pushing my cock inside like you’re dying for it. I could fuck your friends and laugh at you and you’d still want my cock.”  
  
Allen couldn’t complain, couldn’t say a word; he was muffled by the pillows. Tyki had power over him, Tyki could kill him, Tyki could split him open and cut him, Tyki could drink his blood and tear him into pieces.  
  
Tyki could dispose of him anyway he wanted.  
  
And the terrifying thing was that...Allen needed it. Someone to break him. Because he was rotten and wicked, because he was _ugly_ .  
  
Because he was useless.  
  
“I’ll let you breathe if you say it,” Tyki tormented him, taking advantage of the fact that Allen was unable to move, wrists tied, pushed onto his belly, continuously getting pounded from behind, mercilessly taken, a soulless _object_ .  
  
With all that was left of his strength, Allen tried to fight back. He whined, lamented, tugged against the cold metal of the handcuffs. Tyki was behind him, Allen pictured him; conceited and triumphant, forcing himself as the winner of that dangerous game, with his slick muscles, his big hands, his gorgeous stubble.  
  
“Do you really want me to kill you?” Tyki leaned over, Allen’s back flush against his chest. He spat on his cheek, grabbing his scalp to push his face deeper into the pillows, if possible, asserting his unquestionable dominance. “You _can_ say it, my little whore. I know you can.”  
  
Allen’s head was light, the severity of Tyki’s voice a dreamy sound . He moved his head in a way that resembled an affirmative nod, and only then Tyki let go of his skull; Allen raised his face, taking deep breaths, and with trembling lips he confessed to his own filth, muttering words that made him drip, precum staining the sheets, “I’m...I’m your... _whore._ ”  
  
“That’s good,” Tyki sneered, “that’s a good boy.”  
  
The handcuffs clicked slightly when Tyki released his sore wrists, placing them somewhere on the bed. Ignoring his stinging pain, Allen flipped him over, assaulted him; he pinned Tyki down, on his back, sticking his dark cock into himself again. His small hand crawled up Tyki’s torso until he tried to close it around his large neck, fingers tracing the throbbing muscles. He wanted to kill him, he wanted to despise him, he wanted to subjugate him; so he choked him with two hands, bouncing on top of him, stuffing himself with that long erection.  
  
But his hands weren’t ruthless, and Tyki was smiling through it. He thrusted upwards to match the movements of Allen’s hips, letting him vent out all his anger, his dissatisfaction, his creeping fears. But he _smiled_ , victorious and _condescending_ , thriving through the suffering.  
  
Allen bent down to kiss him, catching that tongue into his mouth; Tyki’s hand cupped his own and moved it away from his neck. And he kissed him where it hurt, sliding his tongue across the thin red lines on his wrist; all while looking at him, forgiving him for it, hungering for his torment. They kissed, hard, _hard_ , Tyki sucking on the tip of his tongue, Allen rubbing his hand over Tyki’s cheek, slapping it; they tasted each other, exchanging spit, as Tyki lay him on the bed, gasping every time Allen scratched his cheek, driving him to spread his pale legs and have Tyki fuck him faster, fill him, annihilate him.  
  
_Do you think he loves you?_ _  
_ _  
_ Did it matter? Did he know?  
  
But when Tyki came inside and buried his face in the crook of Allen’s neck, when Allen’s arms held him tightly to his chest, fingers soothing through his tight curls, he knew he was experiencing something strange. Was it love, the thing that made him feel drunk and weak, his head light and dizzy?  
  
Was it love, the thing that burned him through hopelessness?  
  
***  
  
The night was cold. An immense numbness enveloped him. He breathed in. Breathed out.  
  
His friends had problems on their own. He couldn’t bother them.  
  
_I’m a burden._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’m a burden._ _  
_ _  
_ He had no right to annoy them in the middle of the night. His pain wasn’t comparable to theirs. They went through so much suffering; Allen was worthless. He was worthless.  
  
_I don’t matter. I’m not important._  
  
Nothing to worry about. He would go through it. He would solve his problems on his own. He would wipe the blood off his wrists, the tears off his cheeks, he would stand up and get up the next morning with a smile on his face; he’d be fine.  
  
_I don’t matter. I’m not important._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’m a burden. I’m a burden._ **_I’m a burden._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** A nervous laughter echoed in the room. He couldn’t stop laughing as he cut the tender skin of his thighs. All the rooms were profoundly dark. Allen was sitting at the edge of the bathtub, razorblade caught in his hand. It felt good. Refreshing. Trying to draw out some endorphins through his blood.  
  
What would it be, if he stabbed his neck with the cold tip of the sharp blade?  
  
Tyki would be mad again. Tyki would raise his voice.  
  
In his room, on the bedside table, his phone was buzzing. He ignored it. Absorbed by the sight of his blood dripping down his thighs, the sizzling sensation burning through his veins and muscles, blank before his eyes, he smiled through his tears.  
  
The bell rang. One, two, three times. Allen stayed there, tears dry on their own.  
  
The blood trickled down his pale flesh in tiny, thick droplets. The razor blade fell from his weak hand.  
  
His laughter faded away.  
  
He pulled up his underwear, staining it with his own blood. As he walked out the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. _  
_ _  
_ _I’m horrible._ _  
_ _  
_ Locks of hair stuck to his cheeks, puffy eyes. Bony collarbones, _that_ long scar splitting his left brow. He was _disgusting_.  
  
_I’m a burden._  
  
The bell rang again. One, two, three times. Allen turned the lights off as he wiped his cheeks, fingers trembling around the handle when he pulled the door open. Tyki’s worried face covered him in shame, guilt creeping within, forming a knot at the base of his throat.  
  
“I called you,” Tyki hushed, standing at the entrance. “Why didn’t you answer?” he asked, unfazed expression turning into something sorrowful when he met Allen’s eyes, languid with tears. “ _Oh,_ ” he breathed out, shivering quietly.  
  
He stepped inside, closing the door behind his back. Allen’s underwear was drenched in blood; part of it had dried down his thighs. No matter how desperate his attempt to conceal his pain was, Allen couldn’t contain the tears that kept rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe. Something heavy and cold weighed down on his chest, squeezing his lungs. The same laughter fell from his lips, frantic and repetitive and high-pitched.  
  
Tyki took him in his arms, caressing the back of his neck. He picked him up, taking him to bed. Allen wasn’t able to distinguish much of what he was doing, but he _felt_ the despair on his skin when Tyki went away to fetch some tissues.  
  
Patiently, his lover kneeled before him, pulling down his underwear to clean him from the blood. Placing a kiss on the scars, he looked up at him through the lashes, never _daring_ to say what he needed to say. He didn’t have to ask why he was causing so much pain to himself. He knew. Because he was the same.  
  
Because Tyki was dying on his own, too, day after day.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Allen stammered, “you shouldn’t...see this. Again. I’m pathetic,” he laughed, forcing himself to stop crying, stop being pitiful, disgustingly weak. He tried, he _tried_ with all his might, but they wouldn’t stop. “Let me do this. Don’t worry,” he snatched the tissue from Tyki’s hand, rubbing it across his sticky thigh, dried blood stuck in blurred dots on his milky flesh.  
  
“How can I _not_ worry?” Tyki asked, a hint of rage shading his calm voice. “I told you to call me when you feel like this, boy,” he whispered, taking the boy’s hands into his, pressing a kiss to each one, “I know that you don’t want to be a burden. That you don’t want me to think you’re miserable,” he continued, hooking his finger under Allen’s chin, guiding him to look into his eyes while he spoke, “but you’re not. And there’s nothing you can do that would ever make me hate you.”  
  
Allen swallowed around the stifling knot in his throat. He lay on his back, covering his eyes with his arms. Tyki was next to him, watching over him with his golden gaze. His hand reached through Allen’s hair, gentle and careful, the same hand that suffocated him on the verge of his climax, the hand that slapped, bruised, grabbed him.  
  
He nestled into Tyki’s arms, lower lip quivering restlessly. His mouth found his neck, his breath ghosting across his skin (the scent of Tyki’s tobacco intoxicating him, making him high, drunk, and in love), words whispered into his ear.  
  
“Now...I realise. I want to… I must-”  
  
***  
  
_“I must-”_ _  
_ _  
_ ***  
  
Tyki drove down the highway, beautiful sceneries unfolding as they went; stark fields, solitary ghosts. Motel doors, purple neon lights, wandering souls.  
  
They stopped at a gas station. Allen observed each and every move of his. His muscular back, highlighted by his seamless white shirt. His flat hips, narrow waist, long, strong fingers fetching bills from his faux-leather wallet. Once he’d completely refuelled the car, he got back inside, offering his young lover a tender smile.  
  
Hands on the steering wheel, Tyki sped up. Allen placed his palm on Tyki’s knee, caressing his way up his leg. Every now and then layers of streetlights illuminated his face, his dark features surfacing from the nocturnal shadows.  
  
For the first time in years, Allen was absolutely peaceful. The wind blew through his hair, Tyki was by his side, and there was a long road ahead of them; no destination, nowhere to go, no one to follow but one’s intimate desires.  
  
Nothing but their youth; the overflowing privacy of their mutual love.  
  
Pink and blue and red flashed by, walls of colour like hazy dreams to Allen’s senses. A wonderful, nostalgic tenderness wrapped him as he glanced at Tyki, his lover, the _one_ he hated and adored. The man who averted his attentive eyes from the wheel to reward him with the sweetest smile, cupping Allen’s hand with his own, thumb caressing his knuckles, calming down his shivers.  
  
_There’s nothing to fear anymore._  
  
(“I must-”)  
  
In his restfulness, Allen couldn’t suppress his confusing emotions. Regret; memories; all melting into his fright. All the things he ignored returned to haunt his mind: the people he left behind, the shallow hope that _he_ could get better.  
  
When Tyki stopped the car, he knew that it was over. He held his breath. Tyki ran his hand through his hair, pulling him close for a luscious kiss, sloppy, filthy, enrapturing. He ravished him with that tongue of his, slow, wondrous hues of honey visible through his lashes. Allen kissed him passionately, imprinting the peculiar scent of Tyki’s cigarettes in his memory.  
  
( _“I must-”_ )  
  
The man broke their kiss, saliva lingering on Allen’s pink lip. It left him sleepy, estranged in a faraway dream. He leaned back into the seat, sighing at the absence of Tyki’s soft mouth pushed on his, his stubble tickling his skin.  
  
Tyki’s fingers clasped the wheel, slowly. The car, as it started, emitted a dreadful noise. The wind was howling.  
  
Foot on the gas pedal, Tyki accelerated. He _accelerated_ at the highest speed possible; letting go of the steering wheel, he searched for Allen’s hand, holding it as he squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
Allen breathed in. Breathed out. No more doctors.  
  
No more pain.  
  
_(“I m-”)_  
  
**_(“I mus-”)_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** The car swerved in another lane, crashing into an incoming vehicle. Shattered glass pierced through Allen’s pretty face, splitting it open. Sirens echoed down the highway, flames blazing up around the vehicle, scorching and definitive.  
  
(“I want to die,” Allen said. “I can’t take this anymore.”  
  
Tyki held Allen’s hands between his. Resignation fell down his figure, shoulders slack, eyes lacking the shiny beauty which was once so peculiar to his charm. _Numbness._  
  
Allen wanted Tyki to leave him. He wanted him to be happy without him.  
  
He wouldn’t expect, however, that Tyki loved him, loved him to death.)  
  
Somewhere along the road, the raven’s mournful cry resonated throughout the dark skies.  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm (not) sorry


End file.
